


Suspended

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 01:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Memory of an undercover job from decades ago is brought back to mind.





	Suspended

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts. I used all of the previous words in this write:  
> Breathe, Listen, Surprise, Dream, Quiet, Brave, Rain, Rough, Listen

Gorgeous Georges Langston wiped the sweat from his face, chest and back, reapplied deodorant and took a moment to cool down. He half listened to the announcements and the distant music playing as he waited for his cue.

He looked in the dressing room mirror his dark brown curls were its usual riot. The length just long enough that when he shook his head a certain way he could get it to fall into his dark eyes. The boss and the clients say it adds to his allure. _Allure ha!_ If it got him what he wanted sooner than later, who was he to argue? Still he could not wait to trim it.

It had been a hard rotation tonight, He was exhausted, but he picked up some new information on his marks and felt good. As good as he knew he looked. His years of playing ball all through A-Levels and after had paid off. His body was in its best shape.

The good news is it made him  _perfect_ for this job.  The bad news is it made him perfect for _this_ job.

And he got the job in the first place all because he lost the bet. Not in his wildest dreams did he expect that insane upset from Man U. _Ah, well that's the joy and pain of footie ball, no?_ Joy for Earnest and pain for him. He was exhausted and while this job will earn him high marks on his professional record, he had to first earn them. He only wished he did not have to earn as an exotic dancer.

“Oi! You’re much a much braver man than I!” his senior partner was in tears with laughter when word got out.

Georges knew, just knew, a Polaroid or something of this, was going to come to light years years later just to embarrass him.

He heard the music change and knew his slight respite was over.

He checked himself out in the mirror once more.

“Someday you’ll be grey and look on this and laugh.” He whispered to himself as he headed for the stage.

He was just about to step up and wait for the intro when Willie, the stage manager, called him over. Apparently, some foreign numbers like what they saw and wanted a private session with their best. He was complimented that Willie counted him among them for Willie was picky on what he called talent. Tonight, the best was him and Rowdy Rick who also got the call. Willie pointed out the group as they went behind a curtain to the private rooms. A bunch of half-drunk rough and tumble mob sons having a go. _Probably a birthday or some nonsense._ That was a train wreck waiting to happen.

A train wreck that could work in his favor or go oh so horribly wrong. He was considering saying no to the job when he saw the odd man out in the group and changed his mind. Georges was strutting towards the private lounge before he had truly thought about it.

_Really, you’re letting your dick decide this? Fine._

The man was a dream come true Georges had not known he wanted until he saw the tall and elegant man with dark ginger hair and steel blue eyes that seem to see everything around him. The sons seemed to have all purchased their clothes in the standard I’m A Junior Mob Boss shop, not Mr. Elegant. His suit fit him to perfection that told Georges bespoke. With classic lines and a waist coat, it was a look that added maturity, but not age. The man was definitely with the group. He laughed and smiled with them, spoke the language perfectly as far as he could tell, they seemed all chummy enough, but every gut instinct in Georges said he did not belong there.

_What’s up with that?_

He had been with this gig four months now. He and Ricky had a routine and simply nodded at each other and the music began in the private room. _This is almost textbook._ As always, because half of the lot were outwardly a homophobic bunch, the insults came first. Georges knew Ricky was straight, he just did not give two shites. Call him whatever you want as long as you “make it rain” and he got his money. It was not out in the open, but Georges did not hide his bisexuality. He could not be in his business if he did not know how to take an insult. Then the more drunk became the more touchy-feely they were. Then it became a challenge to keep them entertained, but at bay and still do what he needed to do. 

Georges spoke very little, just smiled, danced and listened as the men drank and spoke business in another language. That he understood the language helped immensely. He gave each man a moment of attention gyrating in and out of their grasps. His attention wanting to keep an eye on the elegant ginger he did not try to touch him at all. A businessman making some arms deal from the sound of it. He appeared to be only a couple years younger than himself. Still, he commanded the room. _What is it about you?_ He had himself keep track of Ricky’s moves so they would switch places at the appropriate cues.

“Hey, you! You in the black. { _Come here._ }”

Georges back was to him at the moment, but he knew by the voice it was the elegant one. The only one who had kept his hands to himself.  _Oh hell, does he want a one-on-one?_  The one-on-ones very private dances were even more tricky. Doing just enough to keep them entertained with empty promises to keep them coming back, but never deliver for you will lose the gig. "I employ dancers, not whores" - the club manager was explicit on that and it was fine by him. Granted, Georges knew several of the other dancers risked it and played on the side. He himself was never tempted for good reason.

_Until now._

The ginger, Stefan by name, had spoken in fluent German or French all evening. This was the first time he had spoken in English. It was an accented English, with just the last two words in French. Georges heard him and understood him in both languages, but did not acknowledge he heard. Stefan's voice did things to him, that for the first time since taking the gig he was glad he was strapped down. 

_So not falling for that, so you’ll know if I’ve listened? Uh uh._

He continued his moves across the room. Ricky, swaying way towards Georges to switch places grinned and hand signaled he was being paged by Stefan before he swayed his way back to his side with a wink. Georges turned and faced the ginger, but swayed in place, his head cocked to the side waiting.

Stefan leaned back in his seat, cool blue eyes appraising him. He said something obviously lascivious going by the reaction of the man next to him who looked Georges up and down and nodded in agreement to whatever was said.

Georges smiled, ran his fingers through his hair and then gave it _the shake_ , his eyes on Stefan. Stefan snorted derisively seeing it for the blatant ploy it was.

"Oh, I think you can do better." His German accented English was doing things to him.

_Oh, not that easily impressed are you? Good! I like that._

The music changed and Georges grinned.

_Okay then. Let’s try this..._

Without warning he took a standing jump for the table and leaped over the surprised faces of the men as they parted ways. Only Stefan stayed in place as Georges grabbed the pole center table, rapidly climbed to the near top and then let himself drop.

Again, the men parted ways quickly expecting the sudden splat of his body on the table before then. Again, only Stefan stayed in place as Georges slid to a sudden stop.

Georges took satisfaction as Stefan stopped speaking. In fact, Stefan was quiet for a long moment as Georges remained bent backwards on the pole inches above the man’s head.

Stefan reached up and caressed his cheek. Long elegant fingers slide across his throat, caress the planes of his chest, tweaked a nipple that made Georges grin. Every centimeter touch of his was electric. The fingers continued their trek reaching his waist band.

Georges brown eyes were a monologue locked on Stefan’s icy blue soliloquy, neither barely breathed. For a solid minute it seemed as though there was no one else in the room, but the two of them until applause and catcalls brought reality back with a viciousness.

Only then did he raise himself out of the way and continued his routine. It did not matter. He might have done his job and danced around the other men, but for the rest of that evening he was Stefan’s and they both knew it.

Three hours later found Gorgeous Georges Langston exhausted and nearly a thousand quid richer as he ripped up the business card that had been slipped to him later.

Three days after that night found Gorgeous Georges Langston aka undercover cop, Constable Gregory Lestrade had given his hire ups more than enough data to start the sting that would take down the arms ring that had been running out of the underground gay club. A part of him, was glad Stefan was not pulled in the sting. Still gorgeous or not, he wanted nothing to do with a potential arms dealer.

Three months later Constable Lestrade became Sergeant Lestrade.

Three years later Lestrade met Sherlock Holmes and then met his brother, the "minor government official", Mycroft Holmes. Gregory had no idea if Mycroft Holmes remembered Gorgeous Georges, but Greg most certainly remembered Stefan. It was irrelevant, by then Lestrade was happily married. There was no point to it, so he never brought up their first meeting to the Iceman. After a while it was forgotten again.

Nearly three decades, three promotions, a divorce and a new marriage later, the inevitable finally occurred.

He received a text from the British Government, now his husband.

**I remember the feel of you under my fingers, Gorgeous Georges. I still feel the same now. – MH**

Attached was a photo. A nearly thirty-year old photo.

_Oh. My. God._

A mob boss with political ties was taken down in Germany. As Mycroft’s people went through everything in the house the photograph was unearthed. In this bold new world of mobile phones, a picture of the picture was taken and sent to Mycroft who of course immediately texted it to Greg.

 **You know, Stefan, I bet I could still do that with the right incentive.** **;) – GL**

It was a photo of the day they first laid eyes on each other. The erstwhile boss was one of the drunk sons at the private party who took the photo. It was taken the moment Mycroft Holmes - now The Iceman, then under cover as Stefan, reached out to caress the rugged face of DCI Greg Lestrade, then undercover as Gorgeous Georges, as he hung suspended on the pole.

At first sight of the photo Greg nearly choked on his coffee laughing. He was surprised it took this long for something to crop up. In all the time that passed neither man had mentioned that initial encounter. Greg could not help but grin at his husband’s sentiment. No embarrassment here, for he also felt the same way now about the still gorgeous ginger as he had then.

_Of course, he remembered! I should have known._

**I’ll have a pole installed tonight. – MH**

Art Credt: [mofftissfan](http://mofftissfan.tumblr.com/post/169780726108)

The 'expression' on the pole cracks me up!


End file.
